Cold Roses
by TeahWeah
Summary: Fred brings Angelina roses and reflects memories to her hoping that life would be the same just like the time before the second war broke out.


Disclaimer: Any recognisable material from the Harry Potter series does not belong to me; they belong to Jo Rowling because she's great like that.

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I am standing here again, same location as the last time. Some would think it's my favourite spot to stand, waiting and expecting you to come out in a few more minutes to welcome me… and when you come out, I know that my jaw would drop by your beauty. Your hair, in soft curls because you given up wearing those braids after Hogwarts; your brown eyes sparkling with laughter and your body hugged perfectly by the clothes you wear.

Each time I think of those thoughts, I only end up disappointing myself.

Just listen to me today, alright?

I know what you're thinking, love. "Not another rose, Freddie!" Yes, Angelina. More roses, just for you. And that nickname 'Freddie'… even though I hate it, only you're safe enough to call me that without being slaughtered. Only because it sounds perfect with your voice.

And I sigh, Angelina. All I could do is just sigh. Sigh at all the memories that started to gather in my thoughts…

I remember the first time I saw you… we were both eleven and you were a shy one. Maybe because you were not familiar with anyone or perhaps it was your nature. The latter sounds doubtful in our second year because I remember you defending Alicia when she was bullied by Slytherins. You were a tough one, Ange. And they stopped bothering Alicia after that.

You were fierce… And an attractive lioness, too...

Second year onwards: Quidditch was your love. You played the game and you made it seem easy like breathing. The Quaffle and your broom… they were like a part of your body. You played each game as if they were your last and I was always impressed by your passion for the game. Your performance acts as a motivation for me to hit those Bludgers harder; to defend you from a mean opponent… to keep you safe.

In our fifth year, your maturity was at the same level as a nineteen year old. You were beautiful and lads ogled at you. Athletic, smart, independent and kind hearted, that's Angelina Johnson. I wasn't one of those lads who ogled at you. I was too blind then. I hate myself now whenever I see the pictures of us holding the Quidditch cup. You were standing next to Oliver and myself; your hair tangled, you were sweaty and your Quidditch robes was dirty because Flint kept on kicking you with his dirty boots. You were in your best in those pictures. And in almost all of those pictures, I was looking at you—half mesmerized; flashing you my stupid grin while you gave me your gentler smile.

How could I have been so blind?

It was a delight when in our sixth year you agreed to go to the Yule Ball with me. I could see from the corner of my eye; you were smirking at Alicia after I asked you. Although one of the purposes I asked you was to show Ron I was capable of asking girls out. I chose you, Angelina, not anyone else; not Alicia who was well known for her looks and who at that time was dateless. I chose you because I know it was worth the night. I was old enough to understand things like emotional attachment… although vaguely. _But_ I want to understand it further, as anomalous as it sounds, and I want to understand it with you as my partner.

And guess what? The night _was_ worthed. You were beautiful. Your make-up was not overdone and you were wearing a pastel purple dress robe with a small chiffon blue cloak and hair up in a loose knot.

When we danced that night, we were free. But we were freer when we had our first kiss.

We didn't last long though… It was just for a night. The emotional attachment that we secretly wanted with one another was not fulfilled. We went on with our lives as best friends.

Then came the last year of Hogwarts. You were busy with N.E.W.Ts and coaching the team while I was busy with my mayhem (as usual). However, we managed to be around one another and supporting each other's backs. I was the person you came to when Riley O'Connell broke up with you after a three months relationship. You were crying on my shoulder. You rarely cry, Ange, but knowing the fact that O'Connell broke up with you for a fourth year tore you apart. I hugged you and held you close to me for nearly an hour as you speak of your problems—Quidditch tactics, three players booted out the team, Umbridge, teacher's stressing you out, your mountain-load of homework's, Umbridge, pressure from your parents,…Umbridge—and when you finished, I kissed your lips. Our second kiss. And I told you everything would be fine and you slept on my shoulder for that night.

But there was still nothing between us after that incident. There _was_ something, but I was too busy with the Fever Fudge to see it and you were probably too confused to tell me what I needed to know.

Then you graduated, I was there to see you taking your N.E.W.Ts certificate and your award for captaining the Quidditch champion. I was the first one you hugged after the ceremony and we give each other a peck on the lips. For the third time…

You have a good heart, Angelina, and you shown it to the wizarding community after you left education behind. You set up an organisation for orphans when the beginning of the war started. You used your late father's money for benevolent reasons. There weren't that many orphans yet at that time but you were prepared for the worst.

Then came three years after your Hogwarts graduation when I arrived at your apartment for a monthly catch up chat. The war broke like mad and you lost a sister while I lost Percy and Charlie. Coming to see you every month kept me sane and it was a must during those difficult times. We'll always have each other's backs, right?

Our conversation that night drifted from the deaths of others and about your orphanage centre to nostalgic memories of our years in Hogwarts; first time we set eyes on one another, first time we talked, our interests, Quidditch, teachers, other students, the very daft Zacharias Smith, Yule Ball, that mad old cow Umbridge and to my great escape. It was then, when you recalled all the things we used to do… your brown eyes gazing into mine… I realised… I've been in love with you since our fifth year and I only understood that attachment I shared with you as your eyes sparkle with happy tears replaying the memories of what life were like free of the Dark Lord.

And I kissed you. One thing led to another. We were naked twenty minutes later. An hour after, you told me you love me and shortly I told you I love you too. After fifteen seconds of silence, I asked you to marry me and you said 'yes' a second later.

In ten hours, you were gone, my love.

I set off to work the next morning and came to your place during lunch. You were gone, Angelina Johnson. You were there but you were gone. Those bloody Death Eaters murdered you.

And the pain only deepens when two days after you departed, the Dark Lord was defeated…

If only you were kept safe for two more days. Or else you would be here with me now.

Odd, isn't it? When someone who holds a lot of promise and has a lot of good inside them… Their life taken away instead of someone like Bellatrix Lestrange.

Life is so fucked up, isn't it?

Sorry, Ange. I didn't mean to swear.

It's been five years now, Angelina. Five years since you left me and the world. Five years without seeing your face or hearing the most beautiful laughter. Five years since you last kissed me and when you invited me to go to bed to make love to you. The irony of it all: you died the next day after I found out that I was in love with you.

Now, the tears are out again, Angelina. And if you're here with me now, you'd wipe them away, throw away the roses from my hand and you'd kiss me softly to make me feel better.

Time, Ange, is important. I could have told you how I felt about you earlier than that night; if only I wasn't so busy to understand my feelings. I knew you for ten years when we had that conversation which made me conscious of my feelings for you. I was in love with you for six of them; eleven and counting now. Ten was the number of years I known you then. The number of hours of what's left of your life after I confessed that I love you... After I admit that I want us to start a life of courtship.

And currently, it only takes two seconds for ten more tears to escape from my tear duct.

Sometimes, I convince myself that you're next to me or that I can feel your kiss on my lips… but that's just me hoping you're still alive. I know you're with me inside but every time I try to search for you in my heart, I falter backward because a memory of you pain me so much knowing that I can't touch or feel you.

If you're alive now, we'd be husband and wife. Our wedding would be spectacular. I can just imagine you in a white wedding dress robe, holding white roses in your hands while you walk down the aisle and flash me a grin. Maybe you can wear those braids again just for the wedding; it'd look good for old time sake.

If you're alive now, we'd probably have children with light brown skin and red hair—maybe two of them or perhaps three. We'd teach them how to fly and they'd give me ideas of new inventions for the shop. If we have a girl, she would help you bake your delicious pies and our little girl would pick up your humorous sardonic attitude.

I hate those '**if**''s, Angelina. Words can only do so much. They can make me fantasize of _what-should-have-been_'s but they'd never bring you back again. Never.

And the tears can only fall more than usual, but not one tear drop can make you alive again.

Help me, Ange. Come to me every night when I sleep. You missed four nights this week and it cuts me deep when you're absent from my dreams. The only time I'm truly happy is when I sleep because I'm unconscious and you'd visit me and that's when I can feel your genuine presence. I can touch and feel you no matter how distant you are.

I miss you so much, Angelina. The only person who misses you as much as I do is your mother—she died yesterday, by the way. Life is tragic, isn't it? I would go to her funeral service today but I don't want to break my weekly routine coming here, standing at the edge of your grave. My favourite spot to talk to you for the last five years.

Anyway, Ange, I have to go now. George and Alicia sent their love, by the way, and Katie got accepted to play full time for Pride of Portree two days ago. You should be proud, love, because you trained her when she was in her first year.

Plus, I think I have time to go to your mother's funeral. I don't want her to haunt me especially since I slept with you before. It's a _should-have-been_-son-in-law courtesy… or something.

What a routine, Ange. I come here every Friday and stand here for half an hour before I begin to speak and I'd monologue about the things I've been thinking about the whole week. Things that jerked me up from sleep. Memories of you. I'd mourn for a good fifty-five minutes and then I'd joke about something which acts as a sign that my visit is coming to an end. Only because I know you'd want me to come here and be happy with my life. You fell in love with the Fred Weasley that jokes and enjoys having fun and I will depart as the Fred Weasley you fell in love with.

So, I leave you today by making fun of your mother haunting me. I'm sure she wouldn't mind… if she haunts me in the next week to come, I'd come over next Friday and apologise to you. Heck, I'd probably even go to her grave every week to say my sorry for making fun of her.

I'm sure you both are in a better place now...

Anyway, Ange, I'm not making much sense anymore. Even _I_ can't understand what I just said about your mother… I think I'm going to hell for this.

I love you, Angelina. Visit me tonight, please. I'll try to buy you other flowers next week because giving these roses gets old. Until next week, love.

_Fred kisses Angelina's tombstone and walked off._

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Author's Notes:

-The title 'Cold Roses' comes from Ryan Adams and The Cardinals from their album Cold Roses.

-This is so hard to write for me but I'm feeling rather sentimental and emotional as I wrote this so it helped. It's one of those plots that jolted me up from my sleep (in this case: a _really, really _nice afternoon nap!) and those "thunder struck" ideas demands me to write them or else I couldn't sleep… So, I hope you—who reads this—will like it because I put heart and soul into this story.

-I do, very much, like reviews. _Hint, hint_ And my birthday is this 11th, so it's nice if I get a lot of reviews for this in conjunction of my 19th birthday. _Nudge, nudge_ So tell all your friends! Hee.

-If reviewed: Thank you very much.


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